


comfort

by soapyconnor



Series: Commissions [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: he loves jack. he knows he does.





	comfort

**Author's Note:**

> this is a commission. if you would like to commission me, because message me on tumblr @rboydholbrook. it's $1 per every 100 words.

            Alastair stared at Jack, his eyes half-lidded as the man tucked him into bed, a bottle of booze still clutched tightly in his hand. Jack reached out, gently prying it from his fingers. “You should get some sleep,” Jack said softly. Alastair grabbed Jack’s hand, pressing his palm against his cheek.

            “Stay with me?” Al asked.

            Jack stared at him. He pulled his hand away from his cheek, and ran the hand through Alastair’s hair. “You should get some sleep,” he repeated, patting his cheek.

            Alastair watched him go, and passed out.

 

 

            Alastair headed downstairs, staring at Jack’s back as the man began to fix breakfast. Jack’s hair was mused, and a soft hum was coming from the man’s throat. Alastair stepped forward, and got up behind him, slowly inserting his hand into Jack’s trousers. Jack tensed, and a sharp gasp escaped his throat, glancing over his shoulder at Alastair. Jack chewed on his lip and he sharply inhaled when Alastair’s fist tightened around his cock.

            “Alastair—” Jack whimpered.

            “Please,” Alastair murmured, “I’m tired of waiting. It’s been long enough.” He buried his face against Jack’s shoulder as he reached forward and turned the stove off. “Just let me have this. Please.”

            Jack’s eyes were full of emotions, and Alastair fully expected to be pushed away, but instead was met with Jack’s soft mouth pressing against his. Jack tried to turn around, but Alastair did not let him. Instead, he forced Jack over the counter, pressing his head against the counter so hard he couldn’t move.

            Alastair wasted no time pulling his cock out of his trousers and lowering Jack’s past the curve of his ass. Jack opened his mouth to say something, but he instead let out a soft moan when Alastair rubbed his cock against his hole. Without any preparation, Alastair pressed himself inside Jack, keeping the man’s head down and his other hand gripping his hip as tight as possible.

            He began to pound furiously into him, his eyes closed. Jack’s moans sounded way different from James’, and his cock grew flaccid for a moment. But his hair felt like James’ . . . Jack had been staying here long enough that he even smelled like James . . . Fuck. Tears pricked his eyes but he forced them back and bit into Jack’s shoulder, biting even harder into the skin when he heard Jack cry out.

            He pounded into him, pleased at the slapping sound that echoed throughout the kitchen. He shoved his fingers into Jack’s mouth, preventing him from speaking. He didn’t want to hear him right now. He just wanted to fuck him and pretend that James was still here. That he will flip Jack over and instead see James looking back up at him with sleepy eyes.

            He grunted and came inside Jack, not really noticing that Jack was still rock hard. He leaned his head against Jack’s shoulder, breathing heavily, not noticing Jack reaching down and jerking himself off to completion. Alastair leaned back, staring down at Jack.

            He wasn’t James. He would never be James. He knew that . . . but . . . As he looked down at him, and licked his chapped lips, a thought crossed his mind. Jack wasn’t James. But Jack cared about him like James did. Alastair knew he would never be able to love Jack, but . . . fuck. Jack would never be able to notice that his love wasn’t reciprocated.

            Jack flipped onto his back, panting loudly and staring up at him with slightly fearful eyes. “Al—” Jack started.

            Alastair kissed him.

 

 

            They fell into a routine. Jack would sleep in the guest bedroom, coming into the master’s only when Alastair felt like having sex. Jack would make breakfast and lunch and dinner and they would rarely talk. Sometimes Alastair would find it in him to cuddle with Jack on the couch, but other than that they didn’t really interact.

            He looked up as Jack made his way towards him. Jack sat down on the couch, and Alastair instinctively jerked away. Jack stared at him with soft eyes that grew unbearably soft when he saw Alastair jerk away.

            Alastair’s throat grew dry and he attempted to clear it when Jack said, “What are we, Alastair?”

            “Little too late to ask that, don’t you think?”

            There was a small pause. “I know I should have asked this months ago,” he said softly. “But you asked me to move in. I got rid of my apartment, I sent my dogs to go live with Ginger, all my stuff is _here_ . . . But I don’t sleep with you. I don’t get to kiss you. During sex you force my head down and stuff whatever you can get your hands on into my mouth so I don’t speak. We don’t cuddle, you don’t tell me you love me. I . . . I want to know where this is going, so I don’t get hurt.”

            A kinder man would have looked Jack in those soft, innocent eyes and told him the truth.

            “Of course, I’m in love with you,” Alastair retorted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I just don’t have you sleep in my bed because I didn’t figure that’s what you wanted. I prefer that position during sex and I just . . . enjoy hearing you moan around my fingers.” Alastair shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t usually cuddle and I figured you wouldn’t need me to tell you. That you already knew that I loved you.”

            Jack studied him for a long time, before his eyes softened even more. He leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss against Alastair’s lips, which he was forced to accept. Jack leaned back, and smiled at him. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

            Alastair forced Jack back down on the couch. “Uh huh.”

 

 

            The anniversary was coming up and Alastair wanted to tear his hair out. He wasn’t over it. A part of him knew he would never _be_ over it . . .

            He had Jack. He should be happy, _content_ with his life. But as he looked at the man now, he didn’t feel an ounce of love for him. All he saw was the emotional support he offered, and oh _boy_ did he offer it.

            Jack walked over to him and sat down, gently taking his hand. “Al,” he began softly. “Why don’t we go visit the cemetery? And take James some flowers?”

            “I will go, but you won’t go with me,” Alastair snapped.

            Hurt flashed in Jack’s eyes. “All right.”

 

 

            Alastair stood over James’ grave, the grass barely covering the dirt. It ached to see, knowing that it had been a year and he hadn’t moved on. That he had someone, eagerly waiting for him to come and join him and to love him, but here he was, pinning over his dead love. He thought about how he had treated Jack over the last year, how he had been rude, and downright nasty to him. Jack didn’t bother conversing with him at this point, because he knew that it would just turn into an argument. Jack was _still_ living in the guest room, and there had been multiple times where Alastair had violently kicked him out of bed, and spat at him.

            But yet . . . Jack had been there through it all.

            Alastair stared down at James’ grave. “What do I do, love?” he murmured softly. “I don’t know what to do without you.” Alastair dragged his feet through the mud. “I . . . I think I like Jack. At least, I hope I do . . . but after they way I’ve treated him . . . I don’t . . . think he’ll actually take me. I think now he’s just doing it out of obligation.”

            The wind picked up, causing Alastair’s coat to billow around him. “What do I do?” he murmured again.

            Alastair raised his head towards the sky, and then his gaze slowly traveled around the graveyard. He paused, watching an old couple gently placing flowers on the grave. The old man was clearly distraught and wiped his eyes, while his stood there, rubbing his back and leaning against him.

            He licked his lips. Was this a sign?

            Alastair pressed a kiss to his hand and placed it against the cold stone, turning and heading home.

 

 

            Jack let out a sharp exhale when he heard the door open. Alastair stepped into the kitchen, and for once, noticed the forced happiness on his face. “Hi, baby,” Jack said, “I made dinner.”

            “That’s . . . that’s good, Jack,” Alastair whispered, “But . . . can we . . . talk?”

            Alastair noticed the tension ripple through the man’s body like clockwork. He saw confusion, fear, and then acceptance cross the man’s face. Slowly, the man relaxed and gave Alastair a fake smile. “Sure.”

            Alastair took Jack’s hand, and he tried to ignore the look of shock that passed over his features. Alastair sat Jack down on the couch, and Alastair stared at the floor a long time. What could he possibly say?

            “Jack . . . I . . . I feel like I need to apologize,” he started, his voice barely getting above a whisper. “The way I’ve treated you, the last year and a half . . .” Alastair shook his head. “It’s unacceptable. I’ve treated you so horribly, like—like my father would have. I’m sorry. So God damn sorry. I—”

            Jack looked at him, and his eyes softened. He took his hands. “It’s okay.”

            Alastair shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he spat. He forced himself to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t . . . I shouldn’t treat you like I did. You gave me your love, and I . . . treated you like shit. I took advantage of that.”

            Jack paused. “Did you . . . did you not love me?”

            Alastair stared at him, tears in his eyes. “I don’t think so. At least, not at first, but now—” Alastair swallowed. “Jack. I’m sorry that I—took advantage—but I—I really—”

            Jack leaned forward, and softly pressed a kiss against his lips. “Shut up,” he murmured. “I know you’re sorry. But just know . . . it’ll all be okay, Alastair. We’ll figure this out.”

            And for once, Alastair thought he was right.


End file.
